Yesterday, I
threw out a bin bag full of underwear. North-Herts-based fetishists, take
note.
This wasn’t a 100% commitment to commandoism. I didn’t dispose of every pair I own. The reason for this pants purge was simple: I’ve recently acquired a tumble dryer, and the sudden upsurge of fresh laundry has led to a battle for drawer space. There I was, squeezing all of my favourite boxer shorts into a non-existent gap, when there were so many pairs sitting untouched beneath them. Removing the detritus was a victory for common sense.
I wasn’t particularly hesitant about the job in hand. Anything that didn’t meet my basic criteria went in the bag: if they looked too big or too small, they were out.
I was surprised by how many I didn’t recognise. I must have bought most of them myself. I found one pair covered in Christmas trees, which had to be a gift. What better way to mark the festive season than covertly, beneath your trousers.
One pair that would never be resigned to the dustbin were the y-fronts I wore in an advert for Spongebob Squarepants. They're a family heirloom.
